


A Little More Time

by AlannaofRoses



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:11:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6513934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlannaofRoses/pseuds/AlannaofRoses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if there was a six-month gap between Batman and Superman's fight and the showdown with Doomsday? What if, during that time, Bruce and Clark got to know each other a little better?<br/>This is a re-imagining of the Doomsday showdown with some Clark/Bruce sweetness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, I’m really not sure how this happened. It just kind of came to me, and I had to sit down and write it out as fast as I could. Totally unedited, so feel free to point out any mistakes. I have never written male/male before, but these two were practically made for each other. (Although I also adore Clois, and I need that to always be cannon.)  
> Uh, ok. Spoilers for Batman V. Superman, obviously. Though if you haven’t seen it by now, you need to. It was so good and I have so many intense emotions. I messed with the timeline quite a bit here. In this story, Batman and Superman have their fight, but after Lois steps in and breaks them up, when Clark goes to confront Luthor he has disappeared. So there is six months between the hero v hero battle and the final Doomsday fight. During this time Bruce and Clark have… gotten to know each other.  In this version, Lois is Clark’s best friend rather than his girlfriend. 
> 
> Any recognizable lines from the movie are not mine.  
> I think that’s it. Hope you enjoy! Please leave a review if you can, I am always trying to improve my writing and it helps if you let me know what you liked and disliked. Thanks!

It had been six months since Gotham. Six months since Luthor’s manipulations had almost caused Batman to kill Superman with a kryptonite spear. Bruce looked down at Clark sleeping across his bed and shivered. He would be forever grateful to Lois for stopping him from committing the worst mistake of his life.

  
Clark shifted, and his brilliant blue eyes peered up at Bruce. “Morning.”

  
Bruce smiled, shaking off his melancholy thoughts in favor of planting a kiss in Clark’s messy curls. “Good morning, love.”

  
Clark’s eyes narrowed. “What were you thinking about?”

  
Bruce sighed and looked away. Sometimes it was difficult having a lover who was so perceptive.

  
“Bruce.” Clark’s voice was earnest but knowing. “It wasn’t your fault. It was a misunderstanding on both our parts. Luthor was playing us.”

  
“I know. But if Lois hadn’t been there… I could have _killed_ you Clark.”

  
Bruce was suddenly enveloped in a warm embrace, Clark’s black curls tickling his nose. “You didn’t.”

  
He squeezed Clark tight, thankful not to have to worry about breaking the other man as he closed his eyes and breathed in his scent. After Clark and he had started sleeping together, he had had several nightmares of that night. He would wake up screaming as his spear pierced Superman’s heart and Clark’s beautiful blue eyes faded. Thankfully Clark had been there to soothe him and reassure him that it was a dream.

  
Lois had arrived just in time, and both Batman and Superman had left, Batman to rescue Martha, and Superman to face Luthor. But when Superman had arrived, Luthor, and the Kryptonian ship, had been gone. Though both Bruce and Clark had searched, there had been no trace of the mad genius. But during the process of searching, Bruce and Clark had spent a lot of time together. One thing led to another, and no one was very surprised when the two woke up together one morning. Both had felt out of place all their lives, and each had found a kindred spirit in the other.

  
During the past six months, they had alternated between Gotham and Metropolis, with every Sunday afternoon spent at the Kent farm. Martha had taken to Bruce instantly, and he had found in her the motherly love he had long missed. Clark, returning after an emergency rescue one afternoon, had found them sitting together on the porch and laughingly told his mother she had adopted another orphan.

  
Not that everything had been perfect. Bruce still remembered their first epic fight. Clark had somehow retrieved the kryptonite spear and placed it inside a lead-lined box. Bruce had come home to find the box in the living room. When he had opened it, he had been furious. He had ranted and raved and yelled. Clark had just looked at him, his eyes hard, and waited until he had paused to speak. “Bruce, I trust you. If you ever need it, you have it.” Then he had walked away. Bruce had spent half an hour shaking and another half on a bottle of whiskey, and when Clark had returned he had grabbed his lover in a hug and whispered in his ear, “Don’t you ever make me use it.” The lead box had gone into a dark corner of the Batcave and there it had stayed.

  
Clark nudged his neck, and Bruce startled out of his memories. He looked down fondly at his lover. “Ready for breakfast?”

  
Alfred brought the newspaper to them while they ate eggs and toast. Bruce skimmed the news from Gotham while Clark perused the Daily Planet. He grinned as he pointed to the byline on the front page, and Bruce rolled his eyes fondly. Lois Lane, as usual. She stopped by now and then, as she was Clark’s best friend. Bruce had grown quite fond of the spitfire reporter.

  
“Master Wayne!”

  
“Yes, Alfred?”

  
“I think you might want to turn on the TV. Station 5.”

  
Bruce frowned in confusion but set down his paper, meeting eyes with Clark across the table. He switched on the TV set.

  
“We have reports that the missing Kryptonian ship has been found this morning after it began consuming massive amounts of energy, sucking power from at least three nearby power plants. While the ship itself is on an uninhabited island in the Pacific…”

  
Clark was already on his feet by the time Bruce had processed the reporter’s words. Bruce felt a thrill of fear. “Wait, Clark!”

  
Clark turned, his eyes already in Superman mode, steely and determined.

  
“I’m coming with you.”

  
“No.”

  
“Clark, we started this as enemies. Let’s finish it united. Prove to Luthor that he has failed.”

  
Clark wavered, his eyes softening. “Ok, Bruce. Suit up.”

  
Five minutes later, they sped over the ocean. Bruce was in the Batmobile, and Clark pushed him from behind to make the journey faster. They reached the island in less than thirty minutes, even with Bruce slowing them down.

  
The ship crackled with energy, sparking and hissing dangerously. Bruce climbed out of the Batmobile, and he and Clark moved into the ship together. Luthor stood with his back to them, staring at something below.

  
“I gave Batman a chance. I really thought you’d do it.” The madman turned to face them. “Well, if man won’t kill god, the devil will do it!”

  
A roar shattered the chamber, and Bruce looked at Clark in horror.

  
“An ancient Kryptonian deformity; blood of my blood. Born to destroy you. Your Doomsday!” Both of them reared back as the monster broke free, roaring. Luthor cackled, catching the monsters attention. Doomsday swung, but Clark caught the mighty fist. Then Doomsday swatted, and Clark went flying. Bruce took a breath as Doomsday leapt out of the hole Clark had created to pursue him. Bruce grabbed at Luthor and slipped handcuffs on him, marching the madman to a railing and fastening the restraints around it. Only then did he go to help his lover.

  
But he was too late. He tipped his head back, barely able to see the streak of light that broke through the atmosphere as Superman dragged Doomsday into the sky.

  
“Alfred!”

  
“Master Wayne.”

  
“What’s happening?”

  
“Superman has taken Doomsday out towards space. I believe he is trying to remove the threat of casualties.”

  
Bruce swore under his breath. “Alfred, I need to do something. I can’t…”

  
Alfred’s sudden, sharp inhale cut him off.

  
“What? WHAT?”

  
The sky exploded. Bruce stared at the roiling fireball. “Alfred?” He pleaded weakly.

  
The butler’s voice was shaky. “Master Way…Bruce. They just hit them with a nuke.”

  
Bruce’s heart stopped. He stared up, fighting down his panic. Maybe it had only hit Doomsday. Surely Clark was on his way back down right now.

  
Alfred’s voice was back. “Master Wayne! There is an object reentering near your position!”

  
“Is it him?”

  
“No. I think it’s the monster.”

  
Doomsday slammed into the ground. Bruce waited, searching the sky. “Come on, Clark.” He muttered.

  
A muffled roar sounded behind him, and Bruce whirled. He stuffed down his shock and grief and reached for his anger. He leapt into the Batmobile and aimed it at the creature. He threw his craft at the beast, both turrets blazing fire. It was only then that he realized he didn’t have a plan beyond ‘attack’. Doomsday swatted one massive arm, and the Batmobile smashed into a rock pile. Bruce looked up into the monsters face, its red eyes glowing.

  
“Oh shit.”

  
He threw up his arms in front of his face, knowing it would do no good and praying that Clark would be waiting for him in the afterlife.

  
Something landed in front of him and took the blast. For a split second, he thought it was Clark, but the decidedly feminine figure was not his lover. Diana Prince grinned at him, her gauntlets still bright with heat. He nodded his thanks and swallowed his disappointment, his heart pounding. Diana pulled out an honest-to-god sword, leaping at Doomsday with a battle cry. Bruce was barely even surprised to see the monster give. But Doomsday rallied quickly, and Diana went flying, her sword landing just out of reach. Bruce cried out in alarm, but another figure slammed into the creature, sending it skidding backwards, away from Diana. Bruce felt his heart restart as the red-caped Kryptonian met his gaze.

  
“Clark!” He breathed, watching as Diana rejoined the battle. She and Clark batted Doomsday back and forth, covering each other whenever they took a hit.

  
Clark landed near him, shaking his head to clear it after a particularly nasty wallop.

  
“How did you survive?” Bruce cried, drinking in the sight of his very much alive lover.

  
“I’m from another planet, Bruce.” Clark said teasingly. “Nothing can defeat me, except…” Clark’s eyes went wide. “That’s it! It’s Krytonian, Bruce! It’s Kryptonian!”

  
“So?!?”

  
Clark shot him an annoyed look. “Look in your trunk!” He shot off towards Doomsday, catching the monster’s fist before it could flatten Diana.

  
Bruce hurried back to the crashed Batmobile and popped the trunk. When he saw the lead-lined box, he froze. He had vowed the box would never move from its dusty corner, but Clark must have slipped it into the car while Bruce was changing into the suit. He opened the box. The sickly green glow made his stomach clench.  
“Clark!” He cried to the distant figure, knowing his lover could hear. “I have it. Now what?”

  
Diana swung her sword at the beast, taking off its arm, and Doomsday rounded on her, giving Clark a moment’s respite. He flew to Bruce, his cape streaking behind him.

  
Bruce put up his hand, holding the spear as far behind him as he could. “Careful Clark!”

Clark paused, hovering just out of reach of the spear’s effect. “I think the Kryptonite can kill it, Bruce.”

  
“Ok, good. How do I get it over there?”

  
Clark smiled sadly, and Bruce felt panic rising in his chest. “You can’t fly, sweetheart.”

  
“NO!”

  
Clark collided with him, pressing his lips in a quick farewell before scooping up the spear and whirling towards Doomsday.

  
Bruce grabbed for him but missed, the crimson cloak slipping through his fingers.

  
In the distance, Diana lassoed Doomsday, and the beast shrieked in rage. Superman faltered, the kryptonite steadily draining him, but he adjusted his grip and powered on.

Alien slammed into monster. Energy sliced through the air. Diana was thrown free, tumbling across the ground. Clark screamed in agony, and Bruce felt his heart shatter.

  
With a final unearthly shriek, Doomsday collapsed, sending up an earthquake of dust and debris that knocked Bruce to the ground.

As soon as the earth stilled, Bruce was up, racing towards the beast, praying that if he just made it fast enough he could fix the damage that had already been done.

  
Diana reached him first. She knelt beside the body, lying peacefully across the rubble. When Bruce made it to her side, she looked at him with sorrowful eyes.

  
Bruce slowly lowered himself beside her. His eyes traveled the red cape up to Clark’s chest. He took a shuddery breath and steeled himself. It was no use. As soon as his gaze found the huge gash in his lover’s body, he let out a heartbroken moan. He looked desperately into his lover’s face. Clark’s brilliant blue eyes were closed. Bruce didn’t realize he had started weeping until Diana laid her hand on his shoulder.

  
They took the body to the Batcave for preparation, not wanting to risk anyone tampering with it as they had done to Zod.

  
Alfred and Diana both offered to inform Mrs. Kent for him, but Bruce knew he needed to be the one to do it.

  
He reached the Kent farm, and Martha took one look at him and collapsed, sobbing, into his arms. He held her gently, whispering “I’m so, so sorry.” He was not at all surprised to find himself crying again. Clark’s mother had become so dear to him, and he wished, not for the first time, that he could have traded places with her son.

  
They held a small funeral for Clark in Smallville. Martha, Bruce, Lois, Diana, and several townspeople came. It was a simple ceremony, a wooden casket, and a few quiet words. Bruce thought Clark would have been honored.

  
He couldn’t bear to leave the graveside just yet, though the sky had begun to darken. Somehow he knew that once he left the simple plot, he would have to face life without Clark.

  
He could feel Diana’s presence behind him. She had been his quiet anchor throughout the day, never speaking, but always on hand to offer comfort. Though she hadn’t specified, he could tell that she knew his particular brand of pain.

  
He spoke, finally. “They are giving Superman a military funeral. Full honors and all.”

  
Diana stirred. “They don’t know how to honor him, except as a soldier.”

  
“They didn’t deserve him,” Bruce spat bitterly. “Six months ago they hated him. Now he’s only a hero because he’s dead.”

  
Diana laid a hand on his shoulder. Bruce bowed his head, fighting his emotions.

  
After a moment Diana spoke quietly. “Men are still good.”

  
He looked at her in surprise, and Diana quirked her brow. “I know I am not the best role model. I left the world of men because I was tired of the pain and the anger and the grief. But I see now I was wrong. I may not be one of you, but this is my world too. If Superman taught me anything, it is that the sacrifice is worth it. Men are still worth saving.”

  
Fin


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said 10 reviews, but I couldn't resist. I figured you guys wouldn't be too upset. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews! I have gotten so much positive feedback on this, and it has really encouraged me! This chapter is for all of you guys, because the early reviews inspired me to start, and the later reviews encouraged me to finish. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. ~Alanna

Bruce hung up the phone, sighing in frustration. It had been three months, and neither he nor Diana had had much luck in tracking down the metahumans from Luthor’s files.

“Master Wayne?”

“I’m down here, Alfred.”

Alfred stepped further into the Batcave. “Master Wayne, if you don’t leave now, you’ll be late.”

Bruce checked his watch and muttered a curse. “Ok, thanks Alfred.”

The drive was peaceful, once he got out of the city traffic. While Gotham was his home, he also relished these moments where he could just be Bruce the man instead of Bruce Wayne, billionaire. There were few people he allowed to see him like this, and one of them was the smiling woman who greeted him at the door of the farmhouse.

“Mrs. Kent.”

“Hi, Bruce. Come on in.”

After Clark’s death, Bruce had been worried about Martha. Though she was a strong woman, the losses she had suffered would try anyone. He had quickly resolved to keep an eye on her. Part of that included these tranquil days at the farmhouse. Bruce would do odd jobs and repairs around the house, and in return, Martha cooked him dinner. The quiet arrangement suited them both. Bruce soaked up the motherly affection, and Martha relished the company.

“What do you have for me today, Mrs. Kent?”

“I was hoping you might be able to replace the back step. Some of the wood is rotting away after the rains, and I just know I’m going to put my foot through it one of these days.” She led him through the house. Bruce noticed the way they both tried to avoid looking at the picture in the hall, a smiling Clark posed with one of the dogs. There were days that the two of them reminisced, and days that they tried to pretend everything was normal. Today seemed to be shaping up to be the latter.

“It shouldn’t take you long,” Martha continued, and Bruce refocused on her. “So I was thinking you could help me with dinner. Ever peeled a potato?”

Bruce laughed, startling them both. They looked at each other a moment. Then Martha patted his arm, her eyes damp. Bruce blinked and cleared his throat, “Um, the step. I’ll get on that.”

Martha let him pass. He stumbled out the back door, breathing hard. He placed a hand on the house and shut his eyes, fighting for control. Three months and sometimes it still hit him out of nowhere. Clark had been his for such a short time, and yet every moment he spent felt empty without him.

Bruce straightened. He gave himself a shake and ran a hand through his hair. Then he started pulling up the rotten wood.

As Martha had said, the job only took Bruce an hour. After the last board was nailed in place and the tools back in the barn, he stepped into the kitchen. Martha smiled up at him from the dough she was kneading. “Hey. Potatoes are on the side board. Wash them with the brush, then peel and slice them into cubes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bruce went about his task, scrubbing each potato carefully. He knew if any citizens of Gotham could see him now, he would look utterly ridiculous. Bruce Wayne, billionaire, chopping potatoes in a farmhouse kitchen. But the rhythmic tasks were soothing, and Martha’s gentle humming as she moved about the kitchen relaxed him in a way that he had rarely felt before. He envied Clark this, growing up in this place of love and simplicity.

Bruce lined up his first potato, the knife poised to chop. CRACK!

The knife skidded across the cutting board. Martha jumped, the pan in her hands clattering onto the stove.

They both stood frozen. Finally, Martha moved tentatively to the window. Bruce followed.

“Was that…thunder?”

Bruce held out a hand. “I’ll check it out. Stay here.”

Martha watched him as he slipped out the door. The sky was clear, just a few white clouds in the distance. The wind was gentle, the sun shining. Bruce furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Bruce?” Martha called, stepping out onto the porch. “What was it?”

He turned towards her. “I don’t know.” He looked around again, checking the shadows. “Mrs. Kent, I think I’d better stay here tonight.”

Martha insisted that if he was staying, he should use Clark’s room. Bruce tried to refuse, saying the couch would suit him fine, but Martha wouldn’t hear of it.

Thus he found himself lying on Clark’s childhood bed, staring up at a solar system. He thought it was funny that Clark had spent his youth staring at a galaxy that was not his own.

Oddly enough, the room was comforting. While most reminders of Clark brought a sharp pain, being in this room was like being wrapped in a warm hug. Bruce fell asleep quickly and easily.

The next morning, there was still no sign of the source of the mysterious thunder. After checking the surroundings again, Bruce hugged Martha goodbye, promising to be back in two weeks, to take care of himself, and to eat. The trip home flew by, and three hours later he arrived back in Gotham. He parked the car and headed down to the Batcave.

“Alfred, any news on…”

“Hello, Bruce.”

He froze, every muscle taut. His eyes flicked over the figure, searching for the flaw, the flicker of a ghost or projection. Perhaps this was another dream, and in a moment the figure would crush him like an ant.

It didn’t move, standing as still as Bruce himself. He struggled a moment, found his voice. “Are you real?”

Lex Luthor, his bald head gleaming, cackled gleefully. “Surprised?”

A rough cloth bag was forced over his head, and men he hadn’t noticed were behind him grabbed his arms. He saw stars and then nothing at all.

When he woke, it was to darkness. He took a deep, calming breath and got to work. The room was cold, and he could feel a hard surface beneath his feet. Most likely a concrete room, and with the musty smell probably a basement or an abandoned construction site. A shuffling noise, a slight exhale. Two men, armed, if the metallic creakings were accurate. A door opened, closed. Footsteps. Light flooded his eyes as the bag was lifted off his head. He blinked up into Lex’s face.

The crazy genius waggled his eyebrows, and Bruce almost sighed. If the kid hadn’t been scarily smart, his ‘Villain 101’ act would have been humorous. As it was, he was seriously pissing Bruce off. Worse for Luthor, he was pissing _Batman_ off, and Bruce took a deep breath through his nose.

“Bruce Wayne. So happy you could join us.”

“Thanks for the invitation. I believe I declined, though.”

Luthor laughed, a grating sound. “Ah, always the tough guy.” He mimed punching Bruce’s shoulder. “Unfortunately, as the guest of honor, you were rather… indispensable.”

Luthor turned to his men. “Let’s go boys!”

Bruce found himself securely and firmly gripped by the two men as they dragged him up a flight of stairs. Apparently he had been wrong about the basement, because in short order he found himself staring down at a street at least 40 floors below.

His heart spasmed in pain and an irrational, angry fear. He stared at Luthor. “You can’t be serious. He’s dead.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Bruce struggled against the men. A tiny part of him felt stupidly humiliated that Luthor would try this trick with him. Lois played the damsel in distress fairly well, even if she was typically anything but. Bruce was not used to being the one in need of saving. Worse, there was no one to save him. Luthor had obviously gone completely mad. Superman was dead, and however the genius had gotten out of prison, Batman needed to get out of this sticky mess and return him there.

So, desperate, he tried a trick he would never admit to. He went limp. Utterly startled, the men’s grips slipped. Bruce slammed the heel of his hand into the right guy’s neck, not even waiting for him to fall before slamming his elbow into the left guy’s nose. Even as the henchmen hit the ground, Bruce lunged for Luthor. But the kid was quick. He dodged just in time. Bruce turned to grab for him and missed the leg sweep. The next thing he knew, Bruce was falling.

Oddly enough, there was no fear. It was mostly a resigned embarrassment because really, he was the Batman. The Batman did not die by falling off a building. He wondered if they would give him a military funeral too.

Death was peaceful. It felt like floating. It felt like Clark’s arms wrapped around him, safe and warm. Death was…calling his name?

“Bruce!”

Bruce realized his eyes were closed. So, not dead then? He opened one experimentally. Nope, definitely dead. But that wasn’t so bad. Not with this view.

He opened the other eye. The face staring up at him frowned in concern. “Bruce, are you alright?”

He lifted a hand and placed it on the beloved cheek. “Clark. I knew you’d be waiting for me.”

His lover looked even more worried. “Bruce, are you hurt? Are you bleeding anywhere?”

Bruce furrowed his brow in confusion. “Clark, it’s okay. I’m dead, not hurt.”

Clark’s face smoothed into a fond smile. “Oh sweetheart. You’re not dead.”

“But you’re here.”

“Yes. What does that tell you?”

Bruce stared into his lover’s beautiful blue eyes, struggling to comprehend. “Are you…you’re real?”

He stretched out his hand again, touching Clark’s cheek, his chin, the tip of his nose. His thumb stroked Clark’s lips, and Clark kissed it gently. Sometime during the conversation Clark had stopped moving, and now they hovered over a field of softly rustling corn.

Bruce breathed in the crisp night air and finally realized the truth.

He slammed his lips against Clark’s, kissing him urgently, passionately. Clark returned the favor, his hands managing to both pull Bruce closer and keep him from falling at the same time. Bruce dimly realized he was crying, tears slipping silently down his cheeks as he desperately clutched Clark’s warm, real, ALIVE body to his.

At some point, they landed. Bruce found his legs wouldn’t hold him up, and he half fell, half slid to the ground. Clark knelt beside him, his face understanding.

Bruce simply sat for a moment, staring up at his lover. He took in the strong jaw, the expressive eyes. He noticed, “You aren’t wearing the suit.”

Clark grimaced slightly, his hand touching his chest in an unconscious movement. “Yes, well, it kind of had a…hole.”

Bruce shuddered, the memory of the garish wound quite vivid. He reached for Clark’s shirt, his fingers making quick work of the buttons. He pulled the shirt aside, sucking in his breath. A huge, roped scar traced from Clark’s collarbone to the bottom of his ribcage. It was a soft pink, with an angry red fissure in the middle. He stroked the tender skin with his thumb, feeling the hard, ridged tissue. He felt tears prick his eyes again, the sound of Clark’s pain ringing in his mind.

Clark took his hand and pressed it to his lips. “It’s okay Bruce. It will heal.” He lifted Bruce’s chin until they were eye to eye. Clark spoke softly, “I’d do it all again to save you.”

There was nothing to say to that, and so Bruce didn’t say it. They tangled together in the midst of a sea of waving corn, setting aside the world for one day to revel in their love.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So this was a long time coming, and I am sorry to anyone who patiently waited for this chapter. I have been entirely uninspired to write anything else for this, as in my head, it was done. However, this plot bunny intruded on my NaNo novel, and I needed to get it out, so here you go! I hope it doesn't disappoint. 
> 
> Thank you so very much for all the kudos and reviews! They mean the world. ~Alanna

They didn’t reveal Clark’s survival right away. Both men still keenly felt the sting of their separation, and Clark, while mostly healed, was still not to full power.

They had spent the first week at the Kent farm, Bruce putting aside his rigid schedule for once to revel in his very much alive lover. Martha stuffed them both, her face glowing with a constant relief. She found every excuse to touch Clark, resting a hand on his shoulder, grabbing his arm when she spoke to him. Clark seemed to welcome the contact. 

In the darkness of Clark’s room one night, Clark had confessed to Bruce that he had spent nearly a day awake in the coffin before gathering enough strength to dig himself out. Bruce had shuddered and clutched the Kryptonian tight, burying his face in dark curls.

Clark had a definite preference for open spaces now, and he got twitchy when he couldn’t feel the wind or the sun on his face. Whenever this happened, Bruce would simply take his hand and hold on tight, letting Clark feel the heartbeat through his skin. 

The newfound claustrophobia caused somewhat of a problem on their way back to Gotham, as Clark flat-out refused to get into the Batplane. In the end, the two flew back under cover of night, Bruce in the jet and Clark on his own just outside. 

Alfred welcomed the Kryptonian warmly, and soon the three had settled into a nice routine. Batman still made his nightly appearances, and sometimes he was accompanied by a quick-moving shadow who wore a domino mask. Other than ‘big’, no one ever saw him long enough to get an accurate description, which was exactly as Clark wanted it. 

After patrol nights, the two of them could barely clear the door of the lake house before clothes were shed. Clark’s death and return had only increased their fervor for one another, and with the heady adrenaline of the night singing in their blood, their nightly activities were both frequent and lively. Their emergence in the morning was almost always met with Alfred’s knowing smile and a hearty breakfast that would have easily served six regular humans. Clark, who was burning calories at an alarming rate- sun energy or not- accounted for four regular humans. Bruce, who had been coaxed into taking slightly better care of himself by his persistent lover, ate for the other two. 

It was on one such morning, approximately six months after Clark’s return, that Diana called. Bruce was startled but grateful to hear from her, and he quickly set up a meeting with her. Hanging up, he turned to Clark to find the other man standing awkwardly, fingering a flowing red cape.

Bruce walked carefully up to his lover, placing his hand over Clark’s on top of the bright fabric. “Are you sure?”

Clark swallowed, smoothing the cape with his thumb. “I think it’s time.”

Thus, when Diana Prince arrived in Gotham three days later, she was met by not only the Batman, but Superman as well. 

For a moment, Diana simply stared, but then she darted forward and hugged Clark, a move which clearly shocked everyone present. Bruce gaped openly. Diana blushed and made to back away, but Clark overcame his surprise and instead wrapped his arms warmly around her. 

“How did you survive?” Diana asked in wonder.

Clark shrugged. “I don’t actually know. Bruce has been trying to research, but with the whole Kryptonian biology thing, it’s harder than you would think. Best scenario we can come up with is solar energy, but that’s just the working theory.”

“Well, however it happened, I am glad. It will be nice to spar with someone who offers a challenge!”

Clark laughed, and Bruce felt his heart melt. The effects of Clark’s return had been subtle, but they had lingered in the dark shadows of his eyes and thoughts. It had been some time since Bruce had seen him laugh so freely.

Diana turned to Bruce, her smile lingering. “Any more surprises, then, or should we get to business?”

“Business it is.” Bruce said. He offered her a file. “Arthur Curry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and that's the Justice League lead-in. ;)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed. I'm sure I'll get someone asking me to continue this again, so I'll answer that here. I will create a new chapter if and when I am inspired to do so. Honestly, I never thought I would write this one, so I surprised myself. I'm not going to say it will never happen, but don't pin your hopes on it. Also, my desire to play in this sandbox will probably hinge on my enjoyment (or lack thereof) of the Justice League movie. (It's so close! Ahhh!)

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously Clark is not dead. I can’t wait for Justice League and his epic return! I felt so bad for Martha Kent. She has lost so much, and she never imagined she’d lose her practically invincible son.  
> I was listening to the Batman V Superman soundtrack, and I thought about Batman watching Clark get nuked, and how he might have reacted to that. I thought it was weird that we didn’t see Lois freak out in the movie. Then I thought about how Bruce would react if Clark was his lover, and this story was born. The first line was “You can’t fly, sweetheart.”, and it exploded from there.  
> Thanks for reading! Again, please review so I can improve!
> 
> Update: Oh My Goodness!! I am so excited by all the love I'm getting. This is my first fic on this site, and you guys have definitely made me feel welcome. To thank you all, I've decided that if this fic gets 10 comments, I will post another chapter.
> 
> Update: This story is now completed. Thank you for reading!


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